


The Simple Joy

by ukenceto



Series: Love beyond the bones [9]
Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, One Shot, Retrospective, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukenceto/pseuds/ukenceto
Summary: Day... I don't know which, of quarantine. Time to write about Marcus making soup.More serious than this summary implies though.
Relationships: Damon Baird/Marcus Fenix, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Love beyond the bones [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1025247
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Simple Joy

* * *

The dark, purple inside appeared beneath each pass of the blade, dotted with swirls of lighter flesh. Discarding the rest of the peel, he placed it into the pot, reaching for the next potato from the pile on the counter.

It felt invigorating, to revel in something as mundane as making a stew. Yet here he was. Thoughts circled lazily in his mind, seemingly in the same random pattern nature had created the vegetable in his hand. On the outside, they were lumpy and unremarkable; but made for a hearty food to put on the table in the midst of Frost, holding out until Gale. 

It wasn’t the nature of it per se which captivated his thoughts, but moreso the very fact of its existence.

It meant he’d had the time to work the land, prepare it during the cold, misty days of Storm; plant during Gale and watch them grow and bloom, undisturbed underground until Harvest. It meant staying in one place, having a chance to make it a home.

Cutting each potato revealed the stark burst of color within, the uneven chunks bright against the muted green of the glazed pot.

Five years had come and go, five years of no longer fighting day to day, trying to survive under a barrage of bullets.

Years in which everything seemed so different, and what was old and lost, had to be found again.

Visiting burial sites to supervise their construction and the Locust shell disposal alongside Baird had ended a short year ago – to Marcus, it still seemed like yesterday, that they’d slept among machinery, scraped away ancient rust to salvage what could still be of use, poured concrete to seal the tomb-like burial sites.

They had done the part they could, along with many remaining survivors, traveling from one end of Tyrus to the other. Met with the Gorasni and the Nomads, the Islanders who’d returned to their homestead, shared plans and ways of action to better mitigate the silent threat which still made hairs rise on the back of his neck.

The Locust were… gone, but their bodies had remained, encased in unbreakable crystalline cocoons, and Marcus was sure the others shared the deep, unspoken fear of what could one day possibly emerge from pupae such as those.

But at last, the end of that journey had been in sight. He’d returned to the land which had belonged to his ancestors alongside with Damon Baird, and built a house of river stones and tree trunks wider than one’s chest; with a hearth large enough to ward off the winter cold.

A home for them, and for their son.

Looking over to the fireplace, he saw James’ blond head peak over the woolen quilt he’d snuggled under, sound asleep on the large armchair Marcus usually favored. It was almost like a crib for him, even though he was already five and growing what seemed to be daily, almost akin to a sapling.

Taking the bowl with cut vegetables, he slowly poured them in the charred metal pot hanging over the fireplace. The water in it was already steaming. Reaching for the several jars on the mantelpiece, he added the various spices and finally put the lid on the pot, ready to wait for it to cook. Adding another log to the fire, he sighed, looking at the embers for a long moment.

Times like these felt almost unreal, after a life spent on the battlefield.

The lands around, filled with birdsong and the sounds of wild animals passing through the forest, buzzing with insects during summer, were quiet now. Engulfed in a heavy layer of snow, pristine white like cotton muting the shapes of the world.

Baird had gone to the settlement, on the what would be the last supply run for the year, if nothing went wrong. He’d stock up on medication, and few other necessities, along with checking up on people. The settlement had grown, and most Gears had decided to stay there once the work on the burial sites had been complete. Some even propitiously called it New Ephyra, and were already working on the plans for an actual town to take place on the high grounds above the old city.

Unsurprisingly, Baird had been excited about the prospect – and ready to make the trip there often enough to offer his technical assistance and advice, as people assembled machinery and tools to see their dream made real.

Marcus himself had been somewhat apprehensive about it, but mostly because others had looked at him and been certain he’d somehow continue the role he’d played so far; in both battle and the burial sites, he’d taken the lead, others following and trusting his judgment.

So when he’d chosen to go back to his father’s estate, people’s spirits had been unsettled.

Yet no one had dared to confront him about it directly, or otherwise try and refuse him the right. He’d earned his own life back, they all had. And this is where Marcus wanted to be right now.

It brought calm to his mind, easing the phantom pain lingering within.

Slowly, mindful not to disturb his sleep, he picked up James in his arms, still wrapped in the blanket.

Embracing him, Marcus sat down in the armchair, rocking it slightly. James didn’t stir, and he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, brushing the fine, straw-colored hair away from his face.

The warmth of the fireplace was enticing, soft where the blanket scratched slightly against his skin. He could almost feel himself drift off as well, ready to rest in the early evening, darkness already lingering on the horizon.

This really was what home felt like.

_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone yells at me, remember Marcus was rather adamant about living on his farm. That's a man who can enjoy the peaceful hardship of living in a cottage amidst nature.


End file.
